Be prepared
by I'm Nova
Summary: Sherlock is forced to be a boyscout. But there's John, and things might be actually less intolerable than he thought. Even the pointless games. Based on a joke. For sherlockchallenge's prompt "Map" on tumblr.


_Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A.N. Any opinion in this story belongs strictly to Sherlock alone._

Be prepared

Sherlock hated being a boy scout. Whoever said that it was a bunch of kids dressed like idiots led by idiots dressed like kids had been spot on. Still, he was forced to attend, since his family wouldn't hear of him quitting.

"It'll be good for your social skills," mummy had decreed, and of course, dad bowed to that, and Mycroft…Mycroft just loved to flaunt the fact that he didn't need any extracurricular activity, because _his_ social skills were refined beyond his age.

Sherlock still loathed everything about it. It could have been a useful activity when it was founded, but the whole "be self-reliant for your survival" theme they had going on was obsolete. He didn't need to know how to tie a slew of different knots or find his way without a compass. He was a city kid and proud of it – he would never be caught in an area where he couldn't just ask directions from a policeman if he was lost.

That was, of course, unless they bloody dropped him into it. Camping trips were bad enough. But the whole 'this is the starting point, see you miles away, have fun' game they organized made him want to call child services. Thank God, they weren't expected to do this alone – they were in teams of three, and of course Sherlock had insisted on being in Green Team with John, even if it meant having Stamford with them and so almost automatically losing. He didn't care about winning, anyway. All he cared was to be with the one single boy who wasn't completely intolerable.

John smiled at him, found him amazing and somehow seemed to enjoy being his friend, which was completely illogical. Then again, John was friends with everyone. Ok, everyone but Jim. That was perfect, though, because Jim was half obsessed with him and half competitive against him in a way that stood against the teamwork ideals the group pretended to tout. Of course nobody scolded him, not when the team leader (Sherlock refused to use the silly animal terms) was a complete creep, that only led them to be able to favour his little brother, who – if Sherlock wasn't wrong, and he rarely was – had all the markings of a budding psychopath.

Honestly, the only sensible thing Magnussen did was to split the 'problem children', so that each would have his own team to harass. Of course including Sherlock, who had no false ideas about not being considered an issue.

The Red Team had Han, Wilkes and Jay. Han, who said it was a nickname but refused to disclose his actual first name, was actually Magnussen minor, which said all, really. Wilkes was a slime, but too cowardly to actually cause trouble, mostly, despite being ridiculous to the point of asking to be called by his last name since he had a homynym in the group instead of going by a nickname like everyone else. And Jay...well, his last name was Wilder, and he actually deserved it.

Team Yellow was composed of Sebastian Moran, Bill Murray and Jem Sholto. They all enjoyed the physically taxing parts of the training way too much to have completely functional brains – at least in Sherlock's opinion – but Moran was the only one that also had a leaning towards mean pranks.

Jim Moriarty, Jules Roylott and Alex Rucastle were the members of Team Blue. And while Jim was definitely the worst of the lot, Sherlock was seriously considering if he should send some adults (there was an authority for that, wasn't there?) to check on Alex's dog, because from his tales it didn't seem a happy pet. Not at all. Jules was deeply interested in animals, too, but he was mostly fixated on the wild ones, especially the ones that could prove dangerous. Which would be absolutely commendable if only they were still nomad hunters, but civilization had gone quite a bit forward since these days. Not that these people seemed to remember that.

The Yellows rushed forward as soon as they were allowed to move, barely taking time to orient themselves. Frankly, Sherlock thought they missed the point. With Mike on his team, for everyone's sanity he would make sure that they didn't have to walk one step further than strictly necessary.

As for the other two teams, the Reds took off at a calm but sure pace, Wilkes declaring loudly that the others better not cheat by trying to follow them. And while Sherlock wouldn't be surprised to discover that Magnussen the youngest had indeed been told the best path, he wouldn't willingly stick to them for all the treasures of the Tortuga's buccaneers.

The Blue, contrarily, didn't bother with any proclamations. By the time John had helped Sherlock to figure out where exactly they were, and where they should go, the others had slipped away like shadows. Which suited Sherlock just fine, because the further he was from Moriarty and his associates, the better he felt.

Honestly, the greater part of their trip wasn't so bad, despite their being expected to navigate inside a wood. It wasn't as if they should be afraid of wild predators – Magnussen might be annoying, but he didn't want a dead kid and the resulting lawsuit on his back – so mostly they just needed to be careful to avoid tripping on a root.

If Sherlock allowed John to do most of the leading – silently checking that he wasn't mistaking some obvious thing for another, like parasite mould for moss – well, that was just because his friend was enthusiastic about this. Also, accurate – which was odd for someone their age. John still hoped they could win, it was obvious, even if it was a naïve hope. Sherlock might like to put people in their places (something mum would no doubt consider one of his flaws), but he didn't rain on anyone's parade if given no reason to.

Mike got excited once, running away from his companions…about wild blueberries, unsurprisingly. He filled his hands and pockets with them, and then – at a more sedate pace – went back to rejoin his friends.

"We could eat them at the finish line…once an adult has checked that these are actually blueberries and not something poisonous," Sherlock pointed out. Poisonous plants were one of the few interesting subjects he'd learned from this club. They were much less trouble than a dangerous animal to use as a murder weapon, and God knew he spent most of his school hours planning how to kill off the most annoying of his teachers and classmates. In painstaking detail. It kept him from actually committing a massacre. And no, he would say that, unlike Magnussen, he wasn't a psychopath. He didn't like to hurt people – or God forbid, animals – for the sake of it. He just wanted people to stop being intolerable and singling him out in the first place.

Mike _sniffed_. "As if I couldn't recognise blueberries! I will have you know, if _you_ got us lost for days, _I_ could feed us just as long – and no, not with the contents of my backpack. You wouldn't appreciate it anyway. Berries, and mushrooms omelettes, and I bet John could catch something."

"Let him have them, Lock," John said. "If he's wrong, which I don't think he is, I took that first response course, I can help him while you run off to get an adult."

"Unless I get lost," Sherlock huffed.

"Mike doesn't really think that. I surely don't think that. And he won't need you to, anyway. But just in case, can you keep some aside for later? I'm not hungry right now, but they do look yummy!" John remarked.

The bickering slowed them down further, but that didn't hurt their performance too badly…given that at one point, they saw the forest cut through by a large river, its murky stream looking way too swift to safely cross. Oh damn. Were their leaders insane? Of course Sherlock knew that the river was nearby, but he didn't think that it would be just in their path. As if the wood wasn't enough trouble on its own!

This really could prove too much to handle, if the presence of Team Yellow on the river, arguing bitterly, was any evidence. Apparently, Jem thought they should build a raft, while Sebastian, angry and proud, assured everyone that he swam against stronger currents each summer, and that they would lose too much time if they did that. The fact that they were dawdling by arguing didn't seem to occur to him.

In any other circumstances, John would certainly have offered their help. But this was a competition. Nobody would ever be sure if it was their arrival that set Seb off, or if he just didn't want to risk being outnumbered in the choice of plan. Under everyone's shocked gaze, the young boy stopped arguing to plunge into the river and start swimming with all the energy of his anger. Still, at one point his head went under…that's when Jem dived after him, because there was no way he was letting a companion, even an arsehole, drown under his watch. Bill, deciding that they needed to cross this damn river anyway, and that by the time he built anything his two friends would have drowned or landed already, said the worst swearword he knew and went into the water.

Mike, John and Sherlock stood transfixed, holding hands (though Mike mostly for comfort and Sherlock to ensure that if the three idiots really managed to kill themselves John wouldn't try to play hero and go after them) and staring. After a while, the other boys did land – quite a bit downstream – two screaming insults and one still proud of himself despite the trouble he'd got himself into.

John and Mike sighed in relief. Sherlock sighed too…because while they stalled here, the Red team had joined them, as well. It seemed as if the forest's path somehow led them all here, which Sherlock considered a horrible flaw for a competition set to test their ability. There had to be a reason, though. Besides Magnussen the elder being a complete idiot, of course.

Han glared at him, and barked, "How are you here already?"

"The question is – how weren't you here yet? Underestimating the competition a bit too much? What did you do? Stop to smell the flowers?" Sherlock retorted.

"You'll regret that!" the other boy growled, before lunging.

Sherlock had until then ignored the tent pitched on the riverbank, and the canoe upside down on the sand. If anyone was crazy enough to enjoy such activities on their own, it didn't concern him. But apparently the camper had been attempting to have a nap, and a second fight breaking out in front of his tent was the last straw. He rushed out, yelling about bratty kids and their shitty games.

Another assailant turned out to be a great way to break a fight – the Green team skittered away, deeper into the cover of the trees. They stopped soon, though, because Mike, while a decent sprinter when scared, and not minding a longish stroll, was definitely not built for a long sprint.

That's how they heard Wilkes' annoying mewling, somehow managing to placate the angry man…and then starting a negotiation for his canoe.

John had wanted to rush back then, and yell at them for breaking the rules, but Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder and told him it wasn't worth it. "Observe: Han is annoyed – he knows that is not the best strategy. But he cannot speak up without admitting he has been told how to win, and he's smart enough, unlike the other two, to realise we haven't gone far. If anyone complains, and the parents are involved, he can still pretend he was dragged along by bad friends," he whispered in his friend's ear.

Money cheered the man considerably, and he didn't mind agreeing to the trade. The three boys piled into it, and started trying to cross – but they sat without a care for weight distribution, and the current almost ripped the paddles from their hands twice. The canoe tipped dangerously, without actually capsizing, and they were a good way downstream too before they managed to land.

"And now that we're free of them, let's assess the situation. They cannot have set us up to fail," Sherlock declared. He took off his backpack, opened it, and fished out a map of the area.

"Isn't that forbidden, too? I thought that we should use our own abilities…" Mike said.

"And I am completely capable of carrying and utilizing a map. We're supposed to be prepared, right? There's no way I'm going anywhere where I'm not likely to be able to ask for directions without a map. John brought us here, anyway. I just want to see if the river is narrower somewhere or… Ah ah!" Sherlock said. "There's a reason the paths led here. A Roman bridge is close upstream. What do you want to bet that it's still standing?"

"Would it be fair to use it, though?" John wondered, frowning.

"If we didn't have any idea of that, what would you do?" the taller boy asked.

"Probably divide the team and see if there's an easier place to ford," the blond replied, before his mouth fell open.

"Would you terribly mind not dividing the team?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow.

They all laughed before going to the bridge.

What they didn't expect was to find Moriarty and his team there…or that, instead of going forward, the Purple team had decided that they should stay and try to toss them off the bridge. Luckily, Sherlock and John were good in a fight, and Mike decided going limp was his best bet. Passive resistance had always been his best technique. Try hauling him over the railing. In the end, John and Sherlock managed to shove the other team to the same side they'd come from, and decided that it was enough of a tussle, so they crossed quickly. They wanted to get home, not fight any more than necessary. Mike rushed after them.

From there, the path was clearer, and they soon arrived to where Magnussen was waiting for them. The shocked expression on their leader's face was sweeter than victory itself.


End file.
